“Yo, this is Joe. Just heard you’re headed back to Naptown. Congratulations, man. We’re going to win another Super Bowl this year, man. But check this, I’m not a rookie like when you left. In fact, up in this bitch here, I am what you call an authority figure. Remember that corner couch at the complex– the one you used to be snoring on and shit between two-a-days? That’s my couch now. Keep your ass off. See how you like trying to sleep in a damn chair. Anyway, see you in a couple months and we will tear it up like the old days.

Oh yeah, and if you ever drink my grape Gatorade again, I’ll beat your ass. TOPPA THE FOOD CHAIN, MOTHERFUCKER!!!”

I have a friend in Indianapolis, and we were discussing the oddities of Tony Dungy’s reluctant return to coach the Colts in 2008. I think “reluctant” is a fair characterization after Bob Irsay installed a slew of unique perks into Dungy’s deal, in terms of time away from the team. As incentive to return, Dungy was granted permission to spend four months in Tampa during the offseason, plus Friday nights during the season to watch his son play high school ball. You know, the one that didn’t kill himself.

My friend, who we’ll call “Jamie,” she and I agreed to as much when she brought the following to my attention (emphasis mine):

I can only imagine [Dungy] wanted to walk - quickly. But we have a new stadium to fill around these parts, and I can’t imagine they were going to let him go prior to its opening season. I do expect him to be gone immediately following. Assuming the thing is completed by the time the season starts. They are WAY behind. I was talking to our former city attorney (our mayor was ousted, so he goes too) on Monday, and he said the roof [is] set wrong. Small detail of a design flaw, so the roof physically will not open or close. Along with a laundry list of other problems, I’d be willing to bet not a single preseason game is played there. Who says we don’t know what we’re doing around here?

To be fair, Jamie can’t bet for shit, but that doesn’t ncessarily discount her inside information. Besides, it’s only 1986 in Indianapolis right now, so they still have 22 years to finish everything on time.

It’s game one of Manning Sunday featuring that older accomplished pitchman brother, Pey-Pey. He can sell you the coat off your own back at twice value. In fact, he keeps a collection of knockoff Rolexes under his jersey if you’re looking for one.

The Chargers have won their last two against Indy, including the Nov. 11 regular season contest, in which Pey-Pey famously sold the defense a whopping six beachfront interceptions and Adam Vinatieri botched a chip shot that cost them the game. What will take to get that guy to stop choking?

Not having to rely this time on Craphonso Thorpe at wideout, the Colts will have certainly more reliable, if less hilariously named, receivers this time around. Meanwhile, the roof of the RCA Dome may be opened because no one enclosure can contain the doucheiness that is Marmalard.

You guys know that everything I write in Always Be Covering is a joke, right?

You couldn’t really expect me to live up to that guarantee, could you?

Ah shit, this is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

This morning I woke up determined to get the month off on the right foot, but Daniel Day Lewis said that was cheating. Fucking lefty. This might be even more difficult than I imagined. Thank god I’m not dating Marla the virgin (although I won’t be seeing my girlfriend for a full week…so Saturday and Sunday at Deadspin might be a bit tense).

Although I’m just over 12 hours in to the longest month of my life noticeable changes are already beginning to emerge. For instance, the blindness that has afflicted me since puberty has finally ceased. I can see the light, and it burns! Best of all I can finally get rid of my anti-semitic guide dog, Peaches.

Oops, I think I almost cheated by accident.

So begins my thirtyone day odyssey. Of course none of this would be happening if the best kicker in the history of kicking pointed prolate spheroids hadn’t missed the easiest field goal of all time. But it only came down to that because Peyton couldn’t stop throwing it to the San Diego defense, and don’t tell me things would be much different if MarHar and Dallas played. No, the only possible explanation for this perfect storm of chokeration is…ME!

It should be obvious to anyone paying attention that Viniateri and Manning are to members of a conspiratorial organization that’s hell-bent on bringing down The Maj. Other members include Tom Brady, Bill Belichick, and of course, the Colonel (you can’t have a Pentavirate without five members).

Or perhaps I truly am the world’s greatest jinx…fortunately I have plenty of free time in the next thirty days to launch a full investigation. And of course, plenty of free time to keep you readers apprised of my progress.

I’m already feeling a bit backed up. If Jessica Alba appears naked on the internet in the next 30 days my testes will blow like the Hindenburg…and it’ll be totally worth it!

and now, just because…

*credit to D.C. Benny

Those sweet, sweet tears you hear being cried from the Hoosier state? Enjoy them. Bathe in them. Dump buckets of them on your lawn and watch it grow. The Colts have just lost two games in a row and I’m so happy about it. I am downright goddamn giddy. UM will have a big lifestyle change forthcoming as a result of this game, but he can tell you about that later.

Peyton threw SIX FUCKING PICKS in this game, which is six more than the career NFL totals of all the contributors of this blog. Watching Peyton get annoyed when he’d have to call for the snap twice (when Saturday didn’t see him lift his leg up the first time) was fun enough. But watching him at his worst doing what he does best was the best, that was a little slice of heaven, almost as good as getting my balls licked.

I’ll always contend that hating the Mannings is the most fun because it’s all over their fucking faces when calamity strikes. They start as mildly annoyed, then grow to hate life as the day goes on. Watching Peyton with that “I just gurgled my own tartar sauce” face on the bench led to this exchange on my couch:

Her: Wow, look at Peyton. The Fetus Head is having a rough go of it.
Me: Yeah, right now he has a real de-fetus attitude.

Norv Turner got his ass bailed out by Vinatieri, whose push from 30 yards was the perfect climax to an entertaining game. Additionally, and I know it’s been said before, but Norv frightens children whose parents own HDTVs. I truly believe this is God’s way of punishing me for not giving a shit about the wildfires. I bet Norv could hid about $500 cash and three ounces of blow in the various crevaces of his face, making the Chargers’ location (just minutes from the Mexican border) more than ideal. It’s not like you can search a guy’s face. With the steriod-laden Shawne Merriman returning to form, the team could not have asked for a better mule.

Oh, and was it raining during the game last night? I never heard them mention anything about that…

Look at that insouciant air of contentment. And that was taken last year, before I won my Super Bowl ring. Yeah, I totally earned it. I wear it on the sidelines, even when I pretend like I’m warming up. Peyton smirks at it disdainfully after he throws a TD pass, but I like it just fine. He can’t break my stride, because, well, I sit, mostly.

But it all got so much better. Yes, folks they just added a new lane to Easy Street — Jim Sorgi got himself an extension.

What’s that, Matt Cassel? YOU’RE still in your original contract? YOU still haven’t won a ring? YOUR douchey fans are angry at you for throwing garbage time picks against the Dolphins when the Pats are already up by 40 points?

Oh sure, you ran for your “Eff You TD” against the Redskins. I’m pretty sure Mickey from Natick scored in that game, too. Well, I had my first two pass attempts of the season Sunday against the Panthers. And I completed one of them! My 62.9 passer rating scoffs at your meager 19.2.

And you call yourself a backup.

If Brady goes down, you’re a total liability. Me? I’m like the tiny nuke backing up America’s 50,000 other nukes.

Sunday, you and me. It’ll probably be close so neither of us will actually get in the game. How’s about this: the first one of us kicked off the bench because a lineman wants to sit down loses. The Colts love them some Sorgi, especially when they hide my car keys and kick me in the knees. You’re just another cog of Belichick’s machine. I’m like those extra parts you get with IKEA furniture, y’know, in the really nice plastic baggy?

But with a RING.

It’s a battle for supremacy in the AFC South, with the quietly powerful and workmanlike (read: boring) Jaguars hosting the Colts, the NFL’s top alsoran to the Patriots, and, you know, the defending champs. Jacksonville winning would temper the next soon to be painfully hyped battle of the unbeatens in a few weeks. And we can’t have that. Seriously, this week’s games are abysmal. WHO YA GOT?